Must I observe you? Must I stand and crouch
Under your testy humor? By the gods,

You shall digest the venom of your spleen,

Though it do split you; for, from this day forth, I'll use you for my mirth, yea, for my laughter, When you are waspish.

Cas. Is it come to this?

Bru. You say you are a better soldier;

Let it appear so: make your vaunting true,
And it shall please me well. For mine own part,
I shall be glad to learn of noble men.

Cas. You wrong me every way—you wrong me,

Brutus;

I said an elder soldier, not a better;

Did I say better?

Bru. If you did, I care not.

Cas. When Cæsar lived, he durst not thus have moved me.

Bru. Peace, peace; you durst not so have tempted

him.

Cas. I durst not?

Bru. No.

Cas. What! durst not tempt him?

Bru. For your life you durst not.

Cas. Do not presume too much upon my love;

I may do that I shall be sorry for.

Bru. You have done that you should be sorry
for.

There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats;
For I am armed so strong in honesty,
That they pass by me as the idle wind,
Which I respect not. I did send to you

For certain sums of gold, which you denied me;
For I can raise no money by vile means.
By Jupiter, I'd rather coin my heart,

And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash By any indirection. I did send

To you for gold to pay my legions,

Which you denied me. Was that done like Cassius? Should I have answered Caius Cassius so?

When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous,

To lock such rascal counters from his friends,
Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts,
Dash him to pieces!

Cas.

I did not;-he was but a fool

That brought my answer back.-Brutus hath rived my heart;

A friend should bear his friend's infirmities,
But Brutus makes mine greater than they are.
Bru. I do not, till you practice them on me.
Cas. You love me not.

Bru.

I do not like your faults.

Cas. A friendly eye could never see such faults. Bru. A flatterer's would not, though they do appear

As huge as high Olympus.

Cas. Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come! Revenge yourself alone on Cassius,

For Cassius is a-weary of the world:

Hated by one he loves-braved by his brother-
Checked like a bondman-all his faults observed,
Set in a note-book-learned and conned by rote,
To cast into my teeth. O, I could weep
My spirit from mine eyes!-There is my dagger,
And here my naked breast; within, a heart
Dearer than Plutus' mine, richer than gold!
If that thou be'st a Roman, take it forth!

I that denied thee gold, will give my heart:
Strike as thou didst at Cæsar; for I know,

When thou didst hate him worst, thou lovedst him better

Than ever thou lovedst Cassius.

Bru.

Sheathe your dagger;

Be angry when you will, it shall have scope;

Do what you will, dishonor shall be humor.

O Cassius, you are yokèd with a lamb,
That carries anger as the flint bears fire;
Which much enforced, shows a hasty spark,
And straight is cold again.

To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus, When grief and blood ill-tempered vexeth him?

Bru. When I spoke that I was ill-tempered, too. Cas. Do you confess so much? Give me your hand.

Bru. And my heart, too.

Cas. Have you not love enough to bear with me, When that rash humor which my mother gave me Makes me forgetful?

Bru. Yes, Cassius; and, from henceforth, When you are over-earnest with your Brutus, He'll think your mother chides, and leave you so.

SHAKESPEARE-" Julius Cæsar."

Spell and pronounce :— chastisement, ides, villain, bondmen, contaminate, venom, spleen, Cæsar, Caius, Cassius, rived, Olympus, a-weary, conned, Plutus' sheath, and ill-tempered.

South Mountain towered upon our right, far off the river lay,

And over on the wooded height, we held their lines at bay.

At last, the muttering guns were still; the day died slow and wan;

At last, the gunners' pipes did fill; the sergeants' yarns began.

Then, as the wind a moment blew aside the fragrant flood,

Our brierwoods raised, within our view, a little maiden stood

A tiny tot of six or seven, from fireside fresh she

seemed

(Of such a little one in Heaven, one soldier often dreamed).

And as we stared, her little hand went to her curly head

In grave salute; "And who are you?" at length the sergeant said.

66

'And where's your home?" he growled again. She lisped out, "Who is me?

"Why, don't you know? I'm little Jane, the Pride of Battery B.

"My home? Why, that was burned away; and pa and ma are dead;

And so, I ride the guns all day along with Sergeant Ned.

And I've a drum that's not a toy, a cap with feathers, too,

And I march beside the drummer boy, on Sundays, at review.

"But now, our 'bacca's all give out; the men can't have their smoke,

And so, they're cross,-why, even Ned won't play with me and joke;

And the big colonel said to-day-I hate to hear him

swear!

'He'd give a leg for a good pipe, like the Yank had, over there.'

"And so, I thought, when beat the drum, and the big guns were still,

I'd creep beneath the tent, and come out here across the hill,

And beg good Mister Yankee men, you'd give me

some Lone Jack:

Please do-when we get some again, I'll surely bring it back.

"Indeed I will; for Ned-says he-if I do what I

say

I'll be a general yet, may be, and ride a prancing

bay."